Page 5 of Play Me
I shuffle a bit closer so I can hear more clearly.
She coos, clearly smitten with him and his thoughtfulness. And, although she’s getting played by Truck Boy, I can’t blame her. He must seem genuinely sweet from her perspective. There’s no way for her to know he’s a fox in sheep’s clothing.
“You don’t mind?” she asks. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his dimple shining in his cheek. “Not at all, ma’am. I’m going to be here a while anyway.”
I glare at him.
“Oh, you’re such a good boy. So many young men don’t want to bother with an old woman like me.” She loops her arm through his elbow, and they slowly move to the driver’s side. “When you get to be my age, you feel like you don’t belong in the world anymore. You can barely work the new gadgets, and everyone’s so impatient with you. It’s terrible.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he says as he opens her car door.
I stand beside his truck and watch them, trying to make sense of this encounter. He flipped from prick to prince in five seconds flat. My mind spins in bewilderment.
“Wait just a second,” the lady says, dropping into her seat with a huff. “I forgot to put my card in to pay.”
“It’s on me today,” he says.
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.
He comes back to the pump, his gaze leveling with mine. A smug grin is all it takes to send me back into a free fall. But, before I can get a word out, he steps to the left and out of sight.
My first instinct is to stand my ground and wait for him to finish. If I move, he wins. But with each second that passes without him in my line of sight, I think more clearly. And a glance around reminds me that I’m standing at a gas station, arguing with a stranger over a pump.
It’s like a bucket of cold water being tossed on my head.
So what if he wants to be a child about this? I have errands to run … and I’m getting off schedule.
“If you want to play games, Truck Boy, you’ll have to find someone else to play with you,” I say.
I throw my hair over my shoulder in a final act of defiance and march my way back to my car.
Take a deep breath, Astrid. Get out of fight or flight. It’s over.
I fill my lungs again and slowly exhale.
At least my asshole quota has been met for the day, and it can only get better from here.
Thank God for that.
CHAPTER
TWO
Astrid
The early afternoon is bright, flooding my boss’s expansive office with light. Trophies from various rugby championships glimmer on the shelves behind his mahogany desk. His Most Valuable Player awards shine from their spot above a wet bar filled with pricey liquors and crystal drinkware that I’ve never seen him use. Plants dot the space, giving the gray walls and rich woods a pop of vibrance. The room screams serenity, wealth, and success.
It’s almost rude.
“There you are,” Renn says, leaning back in his oversized desk chair. The slight Australian accent he picked up during his overseas career still catches me off guard even after all these years. “Glad to see you didn’t wind up in the county jail this afternoon.”
“I’m not going to lie. It was a close call.”
Memories of my encounter with Truck Boy trigger the muscles in my shoulders to tense again.Just when I’d started to relax, too.
If grudge-holding were a professional sport, I’d have an office like Renn’s. Tiaras would sit on my shelves, and scepters would hang over my wine rack filled with expensive reds and glass bottles of Coke. It might not scream serenity and wealth, but it would demonstrate my professional level of grudgery. I’m not exactly proud of that, but I’ve grown to accept it.
